Nothing has gone right for the last four days.
As the heat wave roared in, I went to the dentist on Thursday & got a temporary crown which cracked apart within an hour of leaving the office.
Very bad for Facebook games.
Yesterday, still in the low hundreds with humidity in the 50s, I opened a letter from my agent & discovered someone had mistaken my request for a three-month extension for the deadline of Sex and the Pity as a two-month extension.
Of course that had to happen on a SATURDAY. When I can't do anything about it.
The building's elevator is busted. The door to the cellar is locked. My laundry is being held hostage & I can't take trash or recycling out.
I do not feel like writing.
play list of all the songs mention in the book so far. My fundamentalist family can listen with impunity -- & I hope you will enjoy it.
I'm even kinda in the mood for a smoke & an assault on the next bit, armed with Owl City and the lamented Amy Winehouse.
I know Barry Glassner and like him as a human, but I'm dismayed by the LA Times op-ed he co-authored with Morton Schapiro...